In the end they decided to wait for the final event, but a quarter of an hour later they regretted not having gone when Tom proposed going, for the Dark Blue’s first crew, after getting the better of the start, was headed in the first quarter-mile by a smooth and powerful adversary and rowed off her feet――if the phrase is allowable here――before the mile was reached. After that, although Wyndham hung on doggedly, Highland opened water with every stroke and finished almost ten lengths ahead. “The Wreck of the Hesperus” returned to Freeburg at a slow and mournful pace, the apologetic but unforgiven Gussie very low of spirit. He had swallowed his last piece of gum. CHAPTER XIII TOM PAYS A CALL By general consent Wattles was not informed of the incident of the suicidal Ford. It would, as Loring pointed out, only upset him to learn of it. Loring tried very hard to thank Tom for his part in the affair, but Tom refused to be thanked and ridiculed Loring’s efforts. “What’s it all about?” demanded Tom. “What are you trying to do, josh me? Make him be good, Clif, won’t you? I’m sensitive and get hurt feelings awfully easy!” Tom’s hurt feelings were really in the shoulder which had borne the brunt of “The Wreck’s” charge down the hill, and his left arm wasn’t of any use to him at all the next day, and of very little use on Monday, by which time it looked, according to Billy Desmond’s description, like “one of those Italian sunsets painted by that――what’s his name, now?――Turner!” During practice on Monday Tom lacked so much snap that, to his alarm, Roe was sent to second in his stead when the scrub played the first. Stuart Evans was out that afternoon, although not in togs, and seemed rather pleased when Tom was relegated to the bench. Across the diamond Loring and Wattles were occupying their usual position beyond the first base stand. Loring had bought a score-book and was learning the science of scoring. Cotter, one of the first team managers, had brought him the batting orders and was now leaning over the wheel chair, explaining something. Tom, watching rather moodily, noted that Mr. Cooper was not to be seen and recalled the fact that that gentleman had not been around for three days. Maybe he had taken his departure from Freeburg. Well, Tom couldn’t blame him for that, but, just the same, he’d be sort of sorry if he had. Of course he wasn’t nutty about Mr. Cooper, like Loring, but he did sort of like the old goof. Funny he wouldn’t have come around and said good-by first, though. Well, folks were like that. Friendly enough when it pleased ’em, but―― Tom’s morose meditation was interrupted by Pringle, a not very promising understudy for Slim Scott. Pringle moved up from further along the bench and squeezed down beside Tom. “Say, did you hear about Wattles, Tom?” he asked, grinning. “Wattles?”